Just Call Them
by ghost-of-a-scarecrow
Summary: Yakko encourages Scratchy to call his parents. One-shot, Scratchy's pov, later Yakko's pov. Please R&R.


**A/N: The idea came to me and I just had to write it. Enjoy, and please R&R.**

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><p>"Something wrong, Scratchy?" I looked up from the spot I hadn't realized I'd been staring at on the floor. Yakko was giving me a strange look, a look I'd never seen him use before. I would have to mention it in my notes on the session, though I couldn't for the life of me remember what had triggered my reverie.<p>

"No, no, nothing's wrong, Yakko," I said in response. I could tell he didn't believe me, but he didn't push the subject. I scribbled on my notepad something along the lines of 'more perceptive than lets on' and set the pencil back down on my desk.

"Remind me again vhat ve vere talking about," I asked of him.

"Familial relations," he answered in a slightly bored tone. I was losing his attention, once again. Nothing new.

"And, um, vhat vas it you vere...?"

"I was saying that we're cartoons, and cartoons are drawn. You have family; I have a pencil for a parent." I felt that I was slipping into memory again, but I caught myself. Unfortunately, my slight failure of composure didn't go unnoticed.

"You should call," Yakko said. It took me a moment to figure out what he meant. When I did realize his meaning, I began to question my purpose of psychoanalyzing the Warners when they were so much better at it. To find a person's weakness and exploit it in mere seconds was a feat I could never hope to brag of. But I pretended I didn't know what Yakko was talking about. This was a very good opportunity to observe a side of him I hadn't yet seen.

"Vhat are you talking about?"

"Call them. Your parents." He said. I rested my head in my hands.

"I couldn't do that, I haven't talked to them in years," I said truthfully. They're both well into their eighties. Who knows what they'd think of me now? The son who chose a career in studying the mind rather than politics... and in America, no less. They probably would have preferred it if I had stayed in Germany to pursue a job.

"What does that matter, Scratchy? At this point they'd probably just be happy to hear from you," Yakko said in return. I looked up at him. It did sound logical the way he said it. My hand wandered slowly to the phone sitting on my desk. Why was it so hard? I drew my hand away. I couldn't do it. Yakko gave me another strange look, then reached over and picked up the phone, holding it out in front of me. He wasn't about to let this go.

"If you don't, it's just going t' make you miserable, Scratchy," he said. He was right. Again. What was I doing, trying to be his psychologist? He might as well do it himself. I took the phone and dialled.

"Hallo?" I heard my mother's old, but strong, voice on the other end of the line.

"Mutti, hallo, wie geht es Ihnen?"* I answered somewhat shakily, hardly noticing as Yakko let himself out of my office, a smile forming across his features.

"Otto? Ist es du? Ich bin so..."** as I listened to my mother's voice, I realized that Yakko had, of course, been right once again. She was just happy to hear from me, and we had a lot to catch up on.

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><p>I walked out of Scratchy's office, and I couldn't help but smile as I heard the conversation turn into one of happy reunions. I closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb his attention. No wonder the guy was so stressed out all the time... not that we helped. Not that we were ever going to let up, either. Wakko and Dot came bounding up to me.<p>

"So, how'd it go? Did he bang his head on the desk?" Dot asked excitedly.

"Did he throw a chair across the room?" Wakko chimed in.

"Did he try pulling his hair even though he knows he doesn't have any?" I listened to their bombardment of questions, shaking my head at all of their suggestions. What I told them was completely true, though it was an utter lie in context I knew they'd take it in.

"He called 'Mommy'."

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><p><strong>AN: * "Mom, hello, how are you?" ** Otto? Is that you? I am so…"**


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